Love Me Momma
You've seen it, the most sociable of people, the lively bubbly people who suddenly close all their doors and stop talking to people and become complete introverts for no reason. It's these people who wind up dead and nobody knows why. There is a reason though, a reason why these people just turn like that. A young boy; Asa was his name. A lively and confident boy, who wanted to play games little boys play; such as toy cars and catch. Playing outside, climbing trees. Making girls squeal with disgust. Playing with their friends. The poor boy never got any of that. His parents both worked, endless shifts, day in, day out. Often they switched dates, took turns to look after their little boy. Although, 'Looking After' is a rough term to use. Phone constantly buzzing. Constantly doing paper work. Pushed aside from his parents, Asa usually played by himself, locked away in his room. Pawing at the window longing for a play mate. The boy was very lonely, very forgotten. Living in solitude caused him to not know how to react around others his age. "Momma! Momma! I'm hurting momma!" was often a line for the young boy to shriek. Pining for his Mother's attention. No matter how hard he screamed his parents would never hear. Asa started to get out of hand on his seventh birthday. His temper tantrums flew out of control. Often going out of his way to hurt himself, trying as hard as he could to get his mother's attention. He wanted his mother's love. His mother's touch. Forcing himself to cry, falling over scraping his knee. Screaming to get his mother to care. That was all the little boy wanted. That was all he cared about. He often clung to his stuffed monkey and cried himself to sleep, his mouth would burn. His eyes would sting from the tears. Quiet sobbing was all that would be heard. He had no friends, no affection... he longed for another's contact, for another's love. On the boy's eighth birthday, he was walking home from school with his mother. His mother was busy on the phone. He had an awful day. He tugged on his mother's sweatshirt at the side of the road. "Momma... Momma?" His thumb was firmly stuck in his mouth. "Shhh, I'm on the phone," was her repeated reply. Now children, this is why you have to listen to Mommy and Daddy. Look both ways before you cross that road. Poor little Asa's mommy wasn't looking and told him to cross, he crossed without batting an eyelid. He wasn't aware of the oncoming bus. His mother stood on the other side, still talking into her phone. A screech of tires. A beep of a horn. A scream of a boy. A thump to the floor. The hospital alarms did buzz, the drip was put in, they did all they could, but, my dear reader it wasn't enough. Now my dearest, do not fear to walk alone. The young boy will help. Drip attached through his hand. Whenever you feel down, he will be there. Watching you silently through glassy white eyes. Crimson syrup dripping from snow lips. Get too close, he will touch. Ice cold finger tips, he searches for someone to hold him. Someone to care. But, be warned, don't touch, don't look, don't care, don't love. Although what bad things could come from a child wanting his 'Momma'? Category:Ghosts